


blending of red and white

by hydrangeamaiden



Series: Lacenet Collection [2]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bathing/Washing, Drabble Collection, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Out-of-Order Chronology, Serious Injuries, Sleepy Cuddles, Spider!Lace, Void!Hornet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22624918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrangeamaiden/pseuds/hydrangeamaiden
Summary: Hornet and Lace get to know each other, and find that there's a lot to like.
Relationships: Hornet/Lace (Hollow Knight)
Series: Lacenet Collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536415
Comments: 5
Kudos: 100





	1. something from home

When Hornet sees the it, she wisely keeps her mouth shut. It’s priced for a steal, but she has known shopkeepers to jack up their prices at the first opportunity. She tucks the artifact into her shopping basket and counts her rosaries, half-expecting a fight at the register. It comes as shocking when the Arcane Egg is relinquished into her possession as easily as a head of lettuce. As if it were not something unspeakably important.

Away from the tent and hunched near her campfire, she holds it in her bare hands. It had been advertised as being perpetually cold to touch, good for hot nights. Hornet knows better. The chill seeping into her limbs comes from something she herself has always carried with her. She knows not if this relic was from an ancient time or slightly less ancient, but it has the seal of Hallownest emblazoned on its surface, which means this at some point was in her father’s possession.

She can only imagine how it ended up all the way in Pharloom.

“What do you have?”

Hornet bolts upright, needle at the ready, but it is only Lace who is standing behind her. It’s strange that she thinks this: ‘only’ Lace. She is no less menacing with her gilded pin the fire light dancing off her white garb. Lace laughs delicately into her gloved hand.

“Do relax, little spider. I’m not here to fight.” She seats herself on a nearby toadstool. A mushroom, sitting on a mushroom. “Unless you wanted to.”

“I won’t fight you. I’m trying to rest.” Hornet slowly sits back down. The Egg, in her lap, hardly reflects any light. Without realizing it, she’s stroking its cold, hard surface. Each of its many layers hide secrets that she, not a complete being of Void, will never be able to access. She still holds it as if it were one of her most valuable tools.

Lace remains for a good while, with one elbow propped on her knee and her pin sheathed. She doesn’t probe Hornet for any more information, or even try to make conversation. Her eyes droop with the setting sun, only opening when the crackle of tinder surprises her. It would be the perfect moment to take her off guard, but Hornet is a woman of her word, and does not lift her blade.

So, while Lace dozes, Hornet puts her attention on the Arcane Egg. Whatever information there was to be had about these was lost ages ago, with the deaths of her thousands of elder siblings and father. That’s not factoring in whoever—or whatever—previously dwelt in the Abyss. Her surviving siblings had been curious about it, and had insisted to her that it was a worthy topic of research. Arcane Eggs are hard to come by, so they will appreciate it if she returns.

 _If_.

Her ascent to the peak of Pharloom has been frustratingly slow, and the dangers have mounted so as to be discouraging. Thinking about going home won’t _bring_ her home. She’s impatient to leave. Having no way to let her family know she is alive is driving her mad. Wyrm forbid they go out looking for her. She can’t place that burden on them.

“I’m still curious,” says Lace, bringing Hornet out of her ruminations.

“It’s from Hallownest,” she answers without thinking. Lace opens one eye, silently prompting her to go on. Hornet looks down, unable to meet her gaze. “They are difficult to come by, and made of material that can only be found in the deepest depths of the kingdom. There is allegedly writing on each layer, but it is impossible to access it without damaging it, rendering it unreadable. I wonder how one got all the way to Pharloom?”

“Someone could have left with it,” Lace suggests.

“Mm.” Hornet rubs her eyes. “My siblings are fond of these. I can imagine little Ghost taking this one without paying for it.”

“Siblings?” Lace repeats, followed by a long yawn. Hornet never thought she’d see Lace sleepy, let alone slouching. “You _do_ seem like the elder sister type.”

“I’m the youngest, actually, despite how some of them act.” Hornet thinks of her siblings’ antics and rolls her eyes, but it is with affection that she recalls them. “What about you?”

“I’ve got none,” says Lace. “Just myself.”

She does not elaborate on this, and Hornet gets the inkling that there’s more she’s not telling her. When they approach each other on non-violent terms, which has been happening more and more frequently, Hornet catches glimpses into what kind of person Lace is. She notices that the other girl says nothing about herself unless asked, and even then, she does not go into detail. There’s something restrained and ladylike about her that shows even when she’s falling asleep.

Hornet gets up, and goes to catch Lace before she can slide off the toadstool. Her body is warm, and so soft that Hornet is momentarily paralyzed by it. A pins-and-needles feeling goes through her body, but she shakes it off and carries Lace to her bed roll.

“You’re surprisingly...” Cute. She’s cute. Lace is peaceful when she’s asleep. Innocent, in a way. She has her hand tucked between her chin and her shoulder, and doesn’t react when tucked in. Hornet lingers near her, keeping a hand on her arm. Suddenly feeling shy, she draws back. “You’re more reserved than you look. Rest well.”

Hornet goes back to her spot by the fire, keeping silent vigil throughout the night.

* * *

In the morning, all that remains of her fire is ash, sand, and a thin trail of smoke. Hornet is in her bed roll, with no trace of her nighttime visitor. She wonders if she had dreamed Lace’s arrival. Once she has packed up, she searches the perimeter of her campsite.

To her surprise, she finds two members of the Citadel. They are dressed the same as her captors, and they are both dead. Each has a matching puncture wound, straight through the chest and out the other side. Swiftly skewered.

Oh, Lace.

Hornet makes sure she has all of her belongings, and departs from her campsite. It feels like she has another debt to repay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Lace sees Hornet, it's at a distance.

Lace had waited all morning at the entrance to the Citadel. She didn’t know when they would be back, but it had to be soon. The others were whispering to themselves about how a trip to and from the Holy Land was a six day round trip, weather notwithstanding. At the very edge of the kingdom, where the wind whips through the canyon, she strains to hear the ringing of bells. The way the wind is howling, she’ll have to wait until they’re on the bridge to make her move.

She dangles her legs over the edge of the cliff, watching and waiting. The stream of spiders that used to flow into Pharloom has dried up. There’s a silk shortage and all of the higher-ups are scared. They won’t admit it to anyone but themselves, as they pace about in the inner sanctums of their temples, wringing their hands.

Lace is bored of it all. The rituals, the machines, the constant clicking of gears and spinning wheels. The silk that loses its shine after a year, having to bind four of her limbs tightly against her back and pretend she’s somehow different from the spiders dragged in from other kingdoms. Kingdoms which have wised up to Pharloom’s activities and issued travel bans to anyone who even looks like they serve the Queen. Even if she were to leave, no where would take her.

Something appears in the mouth of the cavern. That’s when Lace hears it: the bells. She gets up and, with a flourished wave of her pin, calls upon her glow flies. There are the acolytes, bringing their cage along the bridge. Lace leans forward as far as she can to catch a glimpse of the red-cloaked figure inside. This must be the spider they’ve captured from the Holy Land. A Weaver, then. They have a white shell, but it’s more of a crescent moon than the orb-shaped head that Weavers have. Anyway.

Lace sends one of her glow flies down. Just one will be enough to break the seals on the cage, and the little spider can break free and be on their way. She keeps her eye on them the entire time, trying to discern more of their features. They’re small. _Very_ small. They can’t be any taller than she is, and it looks like they’re shivering.

She starts to feel sorry for them, and then the glow fly lands atop the cage.

In an instant, spider thread whips out in all directions. It clings to the surrounding rock face and binds the bridge, crumbling all of it into pieces. The acolytes have no time to react when they and the cage—still containing their captive, plummet into the canyon.

The spider doesn’t scream. They don’t even look surprised as their body is thrown against the bars. Lace moves along the narrow path on the cliff face to get a better look. The silken threads lash about like a jelly’s stingers, all the way down. One strikes an acolyte, and all but cleaves them in half. Another unfortunate bug lands headfirst on a sharp rock.

Lace watches until the darkness swallows all of it up. She waits for a while afterwards, and when no one comes up, she realizes she’s going to have to go down after that spider. Given the strength with which they crushed the bridge, they’re likely to have survived the fall. There’s a live spider in Pharloom now, and Lace can’t have that. There’s only one thing to do in this situation.

Bugs are starting to come out to investigate the noise, and Lace knows there’s not a moment to spare. She continues along the path, and disappears into a narrow doorway. It’s not like the maintenance bugs can keep a member of the gentry out of Deep Docks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW at the end for implied child abuse + bodily mutilation

Lace has spent her entire life in Pharloom, but she’s still surprised that there are places she can go and not feel like she’s being watched. Hallownest, Hornet tells her, is full of these hidden nooks. Places like Bonebottom, for instance, are considered backwater and therefore ignored. Among the ruins, there is a small but thriving community that doesn’t bat an eye when Hornet returns with the white-clad girl in tow.

She leads Lace to a small den on the outskirts, not far from the church. Past the thick sheet of leather over the door, there’s a bench with a moss bedroll, and tools hung up on the walls. There’s even a spare cloak.

“Make yourself comfortable. Though you can only be so comfortable in here.” Hornet hangs her needle up next to a cluster of miniature replicas.

“It’s a lovely house you’ve made for yourself,” Lace comments politely. She feels her face grow warm when Hornet sits next to her. It’s a small bench, so their shoulders brush together. “You don’t actually sleep on this, do you?”

“It’s only temporary, and I can endure a minor discomfort.”

“The floor would be more spacious,” Lace argues. Hornet shrugs, but says nothing, not even when a hand comes to rest on her upper back. “That would explain why you’re so tense all the time. You don’t have a proper bed.”

“Well, I’m sorry that we can’t _all_ afford those luxuries.”

The hurt in Hornet’s voice takes Lace aback. Silently, and with remorse, she rubs between Hornet’s shoulder blades. Beneath her carapace, her muscles feel as tightly-drawn as violin strings. She takes it upon herself to massage them. She squeezes and kneads at Hornet’s stiff shoulders and back, as if working at a particularly tough piece of clay.

“I’m sorry,” she soothes. “You’re stressed. I know.” She so desperately wants to bring Hornet into her arms, but would she be fine with that? Before Lace can ask, Hornet turns around and cups her face in both hands.

“Mwee?!” Lace squeals so loudly she’s afraid the Church Keeper will hear it. Hornet’s fingers squeeze and pull at her pliant flesh, and it’s the first time she has felt embarrassed about it. “Hornet?!”

She doesn’t know how to react when Hornet giggles. Her face is hot, and she’s not sure if it’s from the ungraceful treatment, or the fact that _Hornet is touching her_. Hornet _never_ touches anyone first. Nor does she laugh as she does so. Lace rears backwards and almost topples off the bench, but Hornet catches her. They are inches from the other’s face, breathless and shocked by such close proximity.

Hornet pulls her upright. They both turn away from each other. Lace has her hands over her face, now realizing how flustered she must be making Hornet with every bit of physical affection. How speechless she is, even when Hornet speaks to her.

“You are the softest bug I have ever seen,” says Hornet. “With a carapace like that, do you not get easily injured?”

“I’m fine.” Lace’s voice comes out as a squeak. There’s no regaining her dignity after that, but she doesn’t complain when Hornet scoots closer to her. She feels her cool fingertips brush against her cheek, and Lace relents. They’re both just too awkward with this sort of thing. “Be _gentle_.”

“Alright, princess,” Hornet says with a bemused huff. She runs her fingers down Lace’s jaw and tilts her chin up. She’s on her knees, creating an artificial height difference between them. Her eyes, dark and inquisitive, look like they could see into her heart if they wanted to. No words are shared between them as her hands wander Lace’s body: pressing her thumbs into Lace’s palms, fidgeting with the buttons of her blouse, scratching her beneath the chin until she’s putty in her hands.

There’s no room for them to lie down on the bench, but Hornet can still sit with Lace on her lap, facing her. She puts her face against Lace’s chest and inhales softly. She must be taken by the faint, rosy perfume of her white garb, complemented by her sweet, natural scent. Onto Hornet clings the scent of earth after rain, truly a bug who has given in to nature rather than continuously combat it with soap. She needs a bath.

“Have you any water in here?” she murmurs to Hornet.

“Yes, one vessel. Why?”

“Because you’re filthy,” Lace coos. “Doesn’t the Church Keeper make you bathe?”

Hornet pulls away with a small, offended noise. “I don’t need to be supervised in that way.”

“M _hmm_.” Lace steps off of Hornet’s lap, and quickly locates the vase of water. It’s not hard to spot: the room is maybe five paces wide and seven paces to the back. “Won’t you let me? Or we could leave and find a spring...”

“There’s one behind the church.” Hornet rises abruptly, and snatches her spare cloak off the wall. “This way.”

On the way there, Lace is worried that there will be other bugs in the baths. She’d much prefer a proper hot spring to sponging Hornet down in some dirty hovel, but she also wants privacy. It’s a great relief when she finds that there’s only one small pool, and it’s unoccupied.

“What kind of soap would you like?” Lace asks, perusing the small shelf. There’s such a limited selection, but that will make it easier for the both of them to decide. “Do you have a favorite?”

“A favorite?” Hornet echoes. She sets her cloak aside, and dangles her feet in the bubbling water. “I’ve never thought about it. It seems frivolous...”

“Oh. It’s the kind I use.” Lace picks up a white bar, inlaid with rose petals. “Let’s go with this. We’ll match.”

Once fully undressed, she wades into the waters. Hornet remains at the edge, hesitant. Lace, cleaning herself with a soapy cloth, pays her no mind. She’ll not drag the spider in with her; she would be furious if someone did that to her. With how reserved Hornet is, she doesn’t expect her to come in at all. But she does, slipping into the water as silently as a ghost.

“Look who finally decided to embrace personal hygiene,” Lace jokes.

“Oh, hush up. I’ve not had the time to care for myself.” Hornet splashes Lace in retaliation. “Let me see if that’s as good as you say it is.”

She takes the cloth from Lace, and sets to work. Her shell and carapace go from plain white and black to gleaming with moisture and soap, and when the suds have built up on her, she ducks under to rinse herself off. She comes up with a sigh of relief.

Lace has decided now that she wants the cloth back, and holds her hand out. Hornet begins to hand it to her, but diverts at the last moment and sets it aside.

“Hey,” Lace pouts.

“Don’t you think it feels a little gross, sharing a rag?”

“Don’t you think it’s gross running around Pharloom without ever bathing?”

“I told you--!” Hornet pinches Lace’s cheeks.

“Ahh, ow! I liked it better when you were calling me ‘princess’,” Lace complains. She has eased up enough to feel comfortable about admitting that. Sometimes, she wants to be pampered, too. She accentuates her displeasure by going to the edge of the pool to sulk.

In the resulting silence, Hornet slides through the water to join her. Her fingers graze over the tender nubs on Lace’s back, looking for any problems with their regrowth. It’s surprising that there’s no pain at all, and in fact, it feels nice.

“Lace—Princess?” Hornet corrects herself with an awkward warble to her voice, and Lace smiles in spite of herself. “Have you ever seen your own back?”

“Seldom. Only in mirrors.”

“Hm.” She can practically hear Hornet frown. “You’ve always had four extra limbs on your back, yes?”

“Yes. Why?” Lace looks over her shoulder, but she can’t see anything. Hornet traces two spots on Lace’s upper back, a few inches above where her top-most appendages will regrow.

“I don’t know how to say this. Us spiders are able to regrow our limbs no matter what. However,” Hornet begins. She takes a deep breath, and continues. There’s noticeable revulsion in her voice, not towards Lace, but at her own words. “I think you were supposed to have six, not four. You have scars here—faded, but noticeable, and the carapace is depressed a bit around that area. If I’m correct, they must have been dug out at the root, or had _something_ done to them, so that they could never regrow.”

Lace feels a bit sick.

“What kind of monster would _do_ something like this?” Hornet’s voice raises an octave. She takes her hands off Lace’s wounded back, and huddles next to her at the edge. Other bugs wouldn’t understand this: spiders have so many limbs, so what’s the big deal if a few are missing? But for spiders, every limb is important. A spider permanently missing even one is like a butterfly with only one wing.

“I’m sure I’ve always had four,” Lace protests. At some point, the bar of soap has found its way into her hand, and she’s squeezing it hard enough to leave dents. Deep in her heart, she knows Hornet is right. She wouldn’t put it past the queen to have something like that done to her. It must have been shortly after she first came to the palace, when she was young enough to forget even important information. Four limbs are easier to bind than six.

Lace suddenly wants to change the topic. She needs to talk about something else. Anything else. She turns her head to meet Hornet’s worried gaze, and asks, “Do you think the bench would be too small a bed for two people?”

Hornet rolls her eyes. “At that point, we might as well get a proper bed.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

After some pushing from Lace, Hornet ended up getting a small bed for her den. The bench that she had slept on before, now stripped of its bedroll, has been pushed back to make room for this new addition.

“It’s starting to look more like a proper house,” Lace comments. “We should have the Forge Daughter build us a door, next.”

“It’s only temporary,” Hornet reminds her, without turning around. She’s next to Lace in bed, squeezed up into a ball as if there wasn’t enough room for the both of them. “I don’t want to get too comfortable.”

“But you look comfortable right now.”

“Mm.”

Lace reclines on her side, with one arm under her head. She has seen Hornet asleep so many times by now: passed out from exhaustion, unconscious after a fight or having fallen or hit her head. It’s rare for her to sleep of her own volition. The first time they were intimate, Hornet had curled up against Lace’s chest, and slept for twelve hours. She hasn’t rested for even half as long since.

Her heart grows warm and fond to see her little spider huddled up and resting, without having been forced into it. Other bugs have stepped in to coax Hornet to a bench or a spring when Lace wasn’t available to take care of her. Taking care of Hornet. That has a nice ring to it. Lace herself likes to be doted upon and pampered. Before meeting Hornet, everyone in her life was only interested in polishing her to be the perfect ornament for Pharloom. In a way, they are both lacking.

“Come here.” Lace pats her chest. “I guarantee you that I am softer than these pillows.”

Hornet crawls over, and flops right on top of her. Lace’s heart skips a beat, and she immediately hugs her close. She puts one arm around the small of her back, and the other around her shoulders, keeping her in place. Hornet finds a loose ribbon on Lace’s blouse, and rubs it between her fingers.

These rare moments are precious to Lace. It makes her wonder, for the first time in her life, about a life out from under Pharloom’s thumb. A house, not unlike this one, and Hornet at her side when she awakens each morning. No obligations, no threats looming over them. She kisses Hornet’s forehead and pretends for a moment that they’re just like any ordinary couple.

“What am I going to do when you run along back home?” Lace murmurs. Just as Hornet finds comfort in the texture of her clothes and her soft, pliant skin, Lace is reassured by Hornet’s cool-to-touch body and smooth horns. She rubs Hornet’s back as if the spider were upset by something, but if anyone is worried right now, it’s her.

Hornet murmurs, “Come with me, I suppose?” and Lace’s heart stops.

“R-really…?” Lace’s eyes widen.

“Where else would you go?” Hornet nuzzles into the crook of Lace’s neck. Her hand rests over Lace’s chest, under which her heart throbs uselessly. It only beats faster when she feels Hornet’s slow, warm breath against her neck.

“I’m holding you to your word.” Lace lifts Hornet’s chin to capture her in a kiss. When they part, she fluffs the pillows, and pulls a blanket over them. Hornet mumbles in protest until tucked in. Under the thick fleece, they’ve created their own little world to hide away in. There’s a draft coming from the entrance, but it is met with the heavy resistance of blankets and bodily warmth. There is business to be done in Deep Docks, corners in the Coral Forest to be explored, and the Citadel to be discovered, but for now there is only a small nook at the bottom of the kingdom.

Even when Hornet falls into the stillness of sleep, Lace continues to stroke her back. She takes Hornet’s hand and kisses each of her knuckles, and then her palm. Leaving her old life behind doesn’t sound too bad, if it means Hornet will be with her every step of the way.


	5. Chapter 5

On a bulletin in the Citadel, Hornet sees a ‘missing person’ poster with her face on it. It’s the first time she has seen one of those. You’d think search efforts would be concentrated towards the lower levels of Pharloom, where she was more likely to be. The poster itself is also very misleading. It describes her as a guest to the kingdom, and that she must be brought back safely.

That’s bullshit. She knows what they _really_ want to do to her.

This brings up the issue of finding lodgings without anyone recognizing her. She has stayed hidden thus far, but the amount of soldiers patrolling the streets is making that increasingly difficult. She hears the telltale clanking of armor and ringing of bells, and ducks into an alleyway before they can spot her.

Her refuge, it seems, is up a very narrow flight of stairs and onto a rooftop. She slumps with her back against a planter, and lets out a great sigh. At this rate, she won’t even be able to go shopping for food and supplies. It makes her yearn for the low levels of the kingdom, where she could disappear into the wilderness as needed.

Hornet cannot stay there forever, though, not when she’s so close to finding her way home. She stands up, looking for a discreet passage off the roof, when she sees something white in the corner of her eye.

“I see you,” she says evenly. “You might as well come out.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” comes Lace’s sulky response. She appears on the other side of the planter, parting the leaves like a curtain. “I have good eyes, and your red cloak was very visible from that tower over there.”

She points with her pin to a chapel two blocks over, topped with a huge brass bell.

“I’m glad you’ve made it this far—but at the same time, I’m not. If you’re captured here, I won’t be able to bail you out,” Lace continues. “How do you like this place so far?”

“It’s far from welcoming.”

“I can imagine.” Lace holds out her hand. “How about we find somewhere to talk, that isn’t someone’s roof?”

“I can’t. I’ll be caught, remember? I saw a wanted poster with my face on it,” Hornet points out, keeping her hands under her cloak.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make it so that they won’t bat an eye at you,” Lace coaxes, and takes Hornet’s hand before she has time to protest.

* * *

About twenty minutes later, Lace is strolling at a leisurely pace down the bustling street, hand in hand with a ‘new acolyte’. She too has disguised herself with a mask and robe, so to onlookers, there is nothing strange about them. Hornet is obviously not used to such long clothes, and with her continually stepping on the hem, progress is slow.

Lace is _extremely_ pleased with herself, not only for her quick thinking, but for the excuse to hold hands with Hornet like schoolgirls on a date. When they go to Hallownest, they’ll be able to do this all the time. She has never been so eager to leave Pharloom as she is now.

“Lace, slow down,” Hornet complains. “I can hardly move in this.”

“But we’re already going so slowly. Just hold up the hem.”

Hornet does so, with an annoyed grunt that sounds muffled beneath her mask. “I don’t know how Hollow ever managed this, with these kinds of dresses…”

Lace leads Hornet out of the way of an oncoming cart. Here, both foot traffic and vehicles share the same street. It’s chaotic, to put it lightly. The closest there is to a sidewalk is the short distance from the rows of shops and houses, which no stag would dare tread near.

“Who’s Hollow?” Lace asks.

“Oh.” Hornet stiffens, as if she has said something she shouldn’t have. “One of the elder siblings I had mentioned a while back. Do you remember?”

“Vaguely.” Lace takes them down a narrow side street, giving them a much-needed reprieve from the crowds. She gives Hornet’s hand a reassuring squeeze when they pass through the courtyard of a temple, full of acolytes. Some resemble the ones who had brought the spider to Pharloom in the first place.

“Well, you see--” Hornet’s voice drops to a whisper. “Our father and their mother had always put them in these long dresses when they were in the White Palace. Such was the fashion of the time. They told me that before their first molt, they had this dress that, in their own words, ‘blossomed outwards like a flower’ and they swear up and down that it had been made with spider silk...”

Hornet links arms with Lace to close the distance between them, so she can continue to speak while they walk. Lace ends up with a description of her sibling’s outfits, past and present, with such clarity that she’s convinced Hornet made half of them herself. That is, of course, contradicted by Hornet being little more than an infant when the White Palace was still standing. In any case, it’s so interesting that Lace almost walks by the abbey she meant to bring them to.

“Oh!” Lace does a double-take when she hears wind chimes. “There it is. No one will bother us here.”

Despite the promise of safety, Lace has to pull at and coax her through the vast wooden doors. The entire time, Hornet hasn’t let go of her arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the prompt was 'Person A and Person B holding hands because there's a crowd but not letting go when they get out of it' and I was just like >:)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this ended up being a homage to heroictype's fic 'briar rose', oops. I just wanted to write Lace being comforted for once

In the heat of the battle, Lace forgets her elegant, practiced flourishes and attacks with ferocity. It could be her frustration, or the wound dripping down her side. She can scarcely breathe, but she still holds out her pin to block the stinging needle. A heavy shove sends Hornet skidding back, forcing her into a defensive position. Lace stabs her pin forward and catches Hornet where her shoulder and arm meet, and the grunt of pain she hears makes her think she’s gotten her.

But then something thin and sharp goes clean through her—she can feel it coming out the other side—and it catches onto the extra limbs she had been hiding away. They’ve long since numbed, but she can tell: the needle meets resistance, and comes to a jagged stop.

The very air goes still. Lace expects pain, a lot of it, but there’s nothing but her own warm blood spilling down her front and soaking through her clothes. Her pin is on the ground, but she isn’t sure when she dropped it.

She looks up from the metal in her stomach, and sees Hornet staring in that wide-eyed way she does when she slips off a platform.

“What’s wrong, little spider?” Lace’s words come out garbled by blood. She coughs. “You’ve finally got me. Go ahead. Finish me off.”

It would be a mercy, compared to what awaits Lace at the Citadel, assuming the queen has learned of her betrayal. In fact, she would’ve been better off dead a long time ago. Lace considers this with no sadness on her part; these are thoughts she has carried with her from the time she was very small.

“If...if you can kill me...” The pain is starting to set in: fire-bright and twisting in her gut. “Then, y-you’ll be able to handle…a-any obstacle...”

The world goes sideways, and then dark. The last thing she sees is a wall of roses, coming to greet her.

* * *

When Lace awakens, it’s still dark. But it’s loud. There are voices, ones she doesn’t recognize, suffocating her from all sides. Snippets of conversation, the scent of petrichor. Her body feels heavy and useless. The first thing she tries to do is sit up, but pain rips through her core, and she cries out.

“Don’t move.” Hornet? Lace would know her voice anywhere. Something is moved from her eyes—a cloth?—and a pair of black eyes swim into view.

“It slipped over her eyes,” Hornet is saying to someone else. “Well don’t _apologize_ , just do better next time.”

When Hornet turns back to Lace, her voice is immeasurably soft. “I’m going to turn you onto your side.”

Lace’s groans of protest are ignored, and she is moved. Her back feels uncomfortably tight, and although no position is completely comfortable, having the pressure taken off it feels a little better.

“Go,” Hornet snaps to whatever other bug is in here. As they scuttle away, she adds, “Get the Church Keeper, please. This is urgent.”

Her pin. Where is her pin? Lace, struggling with consciousness, feels around an endless expanse of soft linens. Her shirt slides further off her shoulders.

“Don’t move, don’t move.” Hornet’s voice is coming from somewhere above her, and to the side. Something cold and damp touches Lace’s forehead, and she shivers. “I’m sorry. Oh, Wyrm, what am I going to...”

* * *

Lace snaps back into consciousness with such clarity that she thinks she had been dreaming. The dull ache around her middle and her unfamiliar surroundings confirm otherwise. The yawning ceiling looks like the inside of some long-dead beast, overgrown with moss and lichens. The door leading out has been covered with a tarp, but she hears the pitter-patter of rain. It falls freely, without aqueducts and reservoirs to keep it in check. It is so unlike the regulated upper layers.

She looks down at herself and sees that her clothes are gone, replaced by thick bandages that circle around her torso. Smaller bandages have been plastered along her limbs and, when she feels her face, on her cheek. Every wound, no matter how small, has been accounted for.

Her clothes are gone. Her pin is unaccounted for; she looks around for it, allowing herself to be frantic in her solitude, and sighs in relief when she sees it hanging on the wall next to a familiar needle. The implications of Hornet’s presence can wait while she gently tests her wounds.

When she reaches behind herself and feels nothing but smooth, solid back, panic seizes her.

Her extra limbs are gone. They’re just _gone_. Yes, they were a shameful sign of her heritage, and she had spent almost her entire life hiding them away—really, she had no choice in the matter—but damn it, they were _hers_.

The shock of it is like a slap to the face, and Lace reacts appropriately by bursting into tears.

Not even a minute later, the tarp shifts aside, and Hornet comes gliding into the room. A second bug peers in after her with concern, but then Hornet yanks a partition in front of the bed and it’s just the two of them. Lace’s first reaction is to throw her hands against Hornet’s shoulders and shove her roughly back.

“Lace!” Hornet digs her feet into the ground and holds her hands up. Lace sobs indignantly, throwing her fists against Hornet’s chest and catching her in the jaw. Her strikes are weak but passionate, and she struggles even when her hands are caught and held in a firm grip.

“Lace, Lace, shhh.” Hornet is at her side with a hand on her back, and Lace howls.

“How could you? How could you? _They’re gone!_ ” It’s all she can scream before her voice becomes choked with tears. Hornet enfolds her in her red-cloaked arms and rocks her like an angry grub. Lace was supposed to kill her and now she really wants to, for having the gall to show her mercy. It’s a matter of dignity at this point, for being exposed like this and having the one thing she had to herself taken away from her.

Hornet’s voice catches. “I know, baby. I’m sorry. Hush, shh...”

She strokes down Lace’s sore, shivering back, going as far as to kiss her forehead.  This tenderness is frightening; no one has ever touched Lace like this before.  And yet, despite this unfamiliarity, she burrows her face into Hornet’s shoulder and clings like her life depends on it. Spider legs grow back. She knows this. But losing her back limbs, having them plucked off or crushed or trampled, feels like she’s being killed every time.

It feels a little less like dying when Hornet is holding her like she wants to protect her. And maybe she does. There’s a lot Lace doesn’t understand about Hornet, but she knows that the little spider has never attacked her first.

When things calm down, when everything stops hurting, she’ll ask. But for now, it is enough that she is being comforted.

**Author's Note:**

> I still have that big multichapter and an original story I'm working on, but I can't just NOT write lacenet in the meantime, ok. Depending on how subsequent chapters go and how many grisly wounds I want to describe, the rating may be bumped up to teen.


End file.
